He Knows
by coolchick207
Summary: He knows what they're doing is wrong. Tells himself he won’t answer her knock this time, tells himself he won’t let them do this to themselves or each other anymore, and even as he thinks it, he knows it’s a lie. Short vignette.


**He knows**

He knows what they're doing is wrong. Late at night, when there's no one but him, he even admits it, as he slips out to the garage, telling himself it will be for work this time. Tells himself he won't answer her knock this time, tells himself he won't let them do this to themselves or each other anymore, and even as he thinks it, he knows it's a lie.

He remembers how it started. Remembers the horror as she turned to him, laughing. Remembers how the red dot on her forehead wavered slightly, as he launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground and covering her body with his as bullets started flying. Remembers how she had trembled beneath him as he closed his arms around her sides, trying to protect as much of her as he could. Remembers how she wouldn't look at him whilst the FBI questioned them, remembers the physical pain of the graze on his leg, remembers the emotional pain of seeing her cry.

He doesn't remember how he got to his office, but he remembers sitting on his desk, waiting. Remembers watching as she came in without knocking, shutting the door behind her and locking it with a 'click', and remembers the way she had gone around the room, closing the blinds. Remembers coming up behind her and resting his hands on her hips, kissing her neck. Remembers how she had turned, tears on her face, to curl her fingers around the lapel of his jacket as she kissed him, desperately, painfully, silently accepting the comfort he offered. He remembers how, in the silence, they had lost themselves in each other, if only for a few hours. He remembers the way she arched against him, biting her lip harshly, and the way he had smothered her cries with kisses as she came. Remembers how she had kissed him sweetly, dressed and without a word, left the office. Remembers, and is thankful, for her silence.

Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead against the blackboard and sighs, remembering. He remembers every time she has come to him, her eyes saying what words could never express, as she reaches out a hand, offering him the option of backing out. Remembers the gratitude in her eyes when he doesn't, and uses the hand instead to pull her to him, and cups her head with his free hand to kiss her fiercely, driving away her demons with the power of his touch. Remembers her warmth, and remembers the cool of her side of the mattress every morning. Hates that he craves her silence so much.

His hands fly across the blackboard, and he tries to forget the feel of her hands clenching his, the way her body moulds to his, the taste of her kisses. Tries to forget, because, in the end, he knows what they're doing is wrong. Closes his eyes against the sound of her knock on the garage door, and looks up, willing his traitorous body to stop as it moves to answer. She stands, shivering and cold, in the rain, and he opens the door wider to let her in, furrowing his forehead in confusion as she brushes past him to stand in the centre of the room. Locks the door behind him and walks up to her, brushing her cheek with his hand as she grabs it and kisses his palm. Shivers at the intimacy of the move, and fights the urge to slip into familiar patterns, instead letting her rest her head on his chest, swaying them slightly as though in some mockery of a dance.

"This has to end," he finds himself whispering into the silence. She nods, and pulls him closer. Feels her eyes upon him and looks down, sliding his eyes closed as she reaches up to brush his lips with hers, pulling back briefly. He knows something is different tonight, and tries not to dwell on the fact that he doesn't know what it is as she inclines her head to give him better access to her neck, sighing as he peppers kisses along her shoulders and neck. "This is killing me, Amita," he whispers into her skin, and she nods again, tugging his t-shirt out of his jeans to pull it over his head.

He knows what they're doing is wrong. Tells himself he won't answer her knock next time, tells himself he won't let them do this to themselves or each other anymore, and even as he thinks it, he knows it's a lie. Because he needs her silence as much as she needs his touch.


End file.
